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CHEZ JOSEPHINE
“It’s just so civilized in here”…Jean-Claude doesn’t actually reply to me, he smiles and nods as if to say, “Is there any other way to be?”
I’m sitting at the bar of Chez Josephine, my go to place before the theater; it is difficult to describe other than to say it is filled with life. The walls are covered floor to ceiling with exotic posters of his adopted mother Josephine Baker and of Napoleon. The bar is covered not only with glistening bottles of gin and bourbon, but with stuffed lions and tigers and monkeys wearing mardi gras beads and jackets and they look right at home. The bar lamp is draped in a red fringed scarf that I like to think belonged to his mom... Despite all of this, it never feels cluttered; it feels more like a warm, soft, slightly illicit bedroom with the shades forever drawn. No need for sunlight.
If you first have a drink at the bar you can explore the extraordinary dollhouse tucked away in the corner. I get there early, so I can engage Jean-Claude in conversation. He can be very attentive. Our brief talk is forever interrupted by him greeting his guests, kissing the back of the women’s hands and helping both men and women with their coats. He greets each and every patron like an old friend, unless of course you are late, then you are given a light scolding, for which you are eternally grateful. This is the theater crowd and timing is everything.
Jean-Claude sees me taking notes. “Are you getting inspired my dear?”
“Always” I answer.
My dear friend arrives and we dine and we drink, the food is lovely and the room is the lovelier, it is filled to the brim with a stunning mix of cultures, races and ages. We are sitting a few tables away from the pianist as he begins to play “La Vie En Rose” and I think of Grace Jones and clubbing in NYC and I never, ever want to leave.
With lemon brulee tart tucked away, the time comes to depart; we walk 100 ft west on 42nd street to see the latest Sam Shepherd play, where we find Sam sitting in the last row, what a nightcap!
Bonsoir